Possess (21 page)

Thirty-One

T
WENTY MINUTES LATER
, B
RIDGET SAT
cross-legged on her bed. The envelope lay unopened before her, but she was ready to see what it held. Her laptop was powered up so she could listen to any recordings; she had a pen and paper for notes. All she had to do was open it.

Bridget picked up the yellow envelope gingerly, felt its weight in her hand, turned it over, and examined the seal. Just a simple piece of Scotch tape held the flap closed, and there was no writing on the outside to give a hint as to who placed it there or why. Not that Bridget needed a hint. There could be only one reason.

She slipped a finger beneath the flap, then stopped. What was she doing? Trusting the advice of a bunch of demons trapped in the body of a man who may or may not have murdered her dad? Or a demon cat that may or may not have been the incarnation of her dead father? Had she totally and completely lost her mind?

Rule Number Three: Do not engage.

Rule Number Four: Do not let your guard down.

Rule Number Five: They lie.

Fail, fail, fail. Not only had she engaged the demons, she’d purposefully sought them out at Sonoma State Hospital. She’d let her guard down when she tried to release the entities from Undermeyer’s body. And now she was trusting what they told her to do. Trusting a demon, a minion of evil, instead of Monsignor Renault.

Exorcist-fail.

Maybe she should call Monsignor and ask his advice?

Bridget shook her head. She’d come this far on her own. She had to see what her dad had left hidden. She had to do it alone.

Bridget took a deep breath and broke the seal.

January 7

Patient: Milton Undermeyer

Session 1

Duplicate File

Severe case of demonic possession. Sensing anywhere from four to six entities. Repentants, I believe. Patient and his entities refuse to disclose why they broke into the sanctuary at St. Michael’s. Something tells me this is no ordinary crime. Not there. Contacting J from OSM for further instructions.

January 14

Patient: Milton Undermeyer

Session 2

Duplicate File

Patient’s entities say they have a message for the Watchers, but there seems to be a disagreement among them in regards to sharing. Want to make sure they will be released afterward. Will decide once I hear their message. Still no answer about the break-in at St. Michael’s.

January 21

Patient: Milton Undermeyer

Session 3

Duplicate File

Entities extremely agitated. Something spooked them. Possible they’ve had contact with the Emim. A threat of some kind. Which would mean the Emim are aware that the entities are attempting to pass a message to the Watchers. Unsure how Emim came by this information. J calling emergency meeting of the OSM. Awaiting word.

January 28

Patient: Milton Undermeyer

Session 4

Duplicate File

Stephen called. Undermeyer attempted suicide in his cell this morning. Had him brought to the house while Annie and the kids are at her mom’s. Change of scenery made a difference. Entities have conveyed the following message:

Amaymon calling his servants. Attempting to regain the mortal world. Must not let him. Stop the priest. The Emim cannot conjure Amaymon without him. They need the priest. The priest wielding the sword.

Unsure if sword is physical or not. J researching. Suggested I contact Monsignor Renault at St. Michael’s. Turns out the OSM was right in sending me to this parish after all.

Bridget’s hand shook. It was true, it was all true, staring at her from the notebook pages in her dad’s very own handwriting. He had been a Watcher, an ancient relative of a bunch of horny angels banished from Heaven. And she was too.

But she was no closer to discovering who killed her dad. The message Undermeyer had delivered to him was the same one they’d given her. Points for consistency at least, but there was nothing here that would prove who actually killed him.

The last entry, January 28. A week later her dad was dead.

She read through the notes again, looking for a hint she may have missed. The spooked entities looked promising, but she had no way of knowing why. Another dead end? It couldn’t be.

Bridget’s hand rested on the envelope, and she noticed there was something else inside, something hard and circular.

She dumped the contents out onto her sheets. A CD. The missing audio? She slid the disk into her laptop and pulled on her headphones.

“All right, Mr. Undermeyer,” Dr. Liu said. “I have stopped the recording.”

“Not safe. Not safe. We are not safe here.” Bridget heard several thumps, accompanied by frantic grunts from Milton Undermeyer. He must have been restrained and was attempting to get out of his chair.

“You’re perfectly safe here, Mr. Undermeyer. And whoever else may be in there with you.”

Undermeyer sucked in a breath. “He knows. The Watcher knows. Of course he knows.”

“Yes, I do.” Bridget could hear her dad’s frustration bubbling below the surface. “I know who you are and I know why you’re here.”

“Liar!” Undermeyer taunted. “Liar, liar, liar.”

“I know you have a message for me.”

“Yesssss,” Undermeyer hissed. “But they know it too. They know it too.”

“Who is
they
?” Dr. Liu asked. “The Emim?”

More thumping.

“Do not say it!” Undermeyer’s voice was twisted, distorted like it was coming through a bad loudspeaker. “Do not say it. Not safe. We are not safe here. Not safe. We are not safe here.”

“I have dominion over the Emim,” Dr. Liu said. “I will protect you.”

“Not safe. Not safe here,” Undermeyer muttered to himself over and over again.

Bridget heard her dad sigh, that sigh of exasperation she knew only too well. She couldn’t help but smile: It was nice to know that she wasn’t the only one who could make her dad sigh like that. Of course Dr. Liu was dealing with a demonically possessed madman, so maybe the comparison wasn’t so great.

“I can’t help you, Mr. Undermeyer, unless you help me. Tell me why you were in the Church of St. Michael. Tell what this message is you—”

A knock at the door.

“Come in,” Dr. Liu said.

“Sorry to disturb you, Dr. Liu.” Bridget knew that voice.

“No problem, Hugh. Is there something I can do for you?”

A shriek maxed out the treble on the record, and Bridget scrambled to turn down the volume. “Not safe!” Undermeyer screamed. “Not safe! Not safe! Not safe!”

The recording went silent.

It made perfect sense that her dad had hidden the duplicate files and the secret recordings, both of which exposed his abilities as a Watcher. Bridget almost laughed at the thought of Sergeant Quinn going over those materials. Would he have thought her dad was crazy? Probably. It’s what Bridget would have thought herself if she didn’t, unfortunately, know better.

“Contacting J from OSM for further instructions.” Who the hell was that? A company? A religious organization? Whoever “J from OSM” was, her dad obviously had contact with him long before Undermeyer arrived on his doorstep. The OSM must be involved somehow with the Watchers.

Bridget hopped out of bed and shuffled down the hall to get a soda. She was wide awake now, antsy and anxious to find answers to new questions.

She pulled a can of Diet 7Up out of the fridge and popped it open. J from OSM. That was the key to the mystery. She had to figure out who or what it was. But how? She needed a database devoted to this kind of stuff . . .

She stopped midsip. Father Santos. Father Santos had a personal library in his office “borrowed” straight from the Vatican. That was as good as it got, right? The freaking Vatican library? Father Santos would let her look for whatever she wanted.

Don’t trust the priest
. The words came back to her like a punch in the chest. She didn’t know who “the priest” was yet, but whoever he was, he was working for the Emim, working to raise Amaymon from the legions of Hell. Could it be Father Santos? Bridget laughed as she pictured the clumsy, stuttering Father Santos in league with the Emim.

Still, there was something about Father Santos she didn’t like and didn’t trust. The freak-out over her bracelet, for starters. At the doll shop, he “forgot” to finish securing the room by laying salt across the front door. Could it have been on purpose? And he was the one who suggested she directly engage the demons, inciting the doll riot. Was it intentional? Was he trying to get her killed?

Bridget trudged back to her room. No, she couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk trusting anyone at this point. If she wanted to get a look in Father Santos’s office, she’d have to do it on her own.

Her cell phone ring snapped Bridget back to reality. “Douchebag Quinn” was the incoming caller.

“Hello?”

“Is everything okay?” Matt asked.

“Matt.” Bridget could barely keep her voice even. “I found it.”

“You found it?”

“Yeah.” She decided to leave out the part about the dead phantom cat. “There was a loose floorboard in the corner of my dad’s study.”

“Holy crap!”

“I know.”

Matt dropped his voice. “What does it say?”

“It’s kind of complicated. What time do you get out of practice?”

“You’re home?”

“Yeah, I can hang out until—”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Wait, Matt. You don’t have to . . . Hello?” Nothing. Had he really just hung up on her?

Somehow, she wasn’t really mad.

Bridget pulled a brush through her hair and applied some lip gloss. For the first time in her life, she actually cared what she looked like. It was a new experience to say the least.

The doorbell rang exactly thirteen minutes later, and Bridget tried to look casual as she opened the door.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.” Matt was breathless. Had he run all the way from Riordan? “Are you okay?”

Bridget smiled. Matt’s hyperprotectiveness was growing on her. “Yeah.”

Without thinking, she reached her hand out to him. The instant her fingers touched his, that God-awful tingling sensation raced up her hands through her body. She yanked her hand away.

“Bridge?” Matt looked stricken. She couldn’t bear to see his pain and confusion, knowing she was the cause. Besides, she wanted to touch him so badly, to feel him protecting her from the things neither of them understood, to feel his lips pressed against hers, his arms pulling her to his body, to feel that delicious heat, that intoxicating energy flowing through her again.

She didn’t care what it meant.

Bridget took a step toward him, holding the gaze of those hazel eyes. It must have been the invitation Matt was hoping for. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him, wrapping his other arm around her waist. His kiss was gentle, but Bridget didn’t want gentle. She wanted to feel those tiny explosions of pleasure racing up and down her body.

She kissed him hard, her tongue finding his as she pressed her body into him. The energy tore through her. It pulsed up her arms, down her legs, across her chest. She slipped a hand under Matt’s shirt and ran her fingers over the taut muscles of his stomach. She heard him moan softly as her hand trailed down the front of his body. He belonged to her. Matt, this power, this feeling. They all belonged to her.

“Wait,” Bridget said, breaking away. This wasn’t why he was here.

“Wait?” he gasped.

Bridget put a hand on Matt’s chest. His heart was racing, racing for her.

Focus!
“Right, sorry.”

Matt cocked his head to the side. “Huh?”

“Look, I need to do something, something that could get me in a lot of trouble.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Bridget rolled her eyes. “I mean it. And I don’t want you to help me just because . . . well, because . . .” Her voice faltered.

Matt laced his fingers through hers. “Because of the way I feel about you?”

“Yeah.”

Matt took a step closer to her. “I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

Bridget held her hands up in front of her. “I’m talking about breaking and entering.”

“Again, why am I not surprised?”

“Damn,” Bridget said, pursing her lips. “You and your dad must really think I’m a total fuckup.”

“Partial,” Matt said with a sly grin. “Partial fuckup. But seriously, I’m in.”

“You sure?”

“Totally.”

Bridget couldn’t help but feel relieved. She would have busted into Father Santos’s office alone if she had to, but the idea of having Matt with her made the whole endeavor significantly less terrifying.